


epistaxis

by mosscoveredking



Series: patchwork multiverse [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Hemophobia, Hurt/very little comfort, Kissing, M/M, Nosebleeds, Suggestive, angst (mostly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25452937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosscoveredking/pseuds/mosscoveredking
Summary: yknow when cute girl does something hot and manga protag gets a nosebleed? yeah
Relationships: Hypothermia/Crimson, Hypothermia/Crimson (patchwork multiverse)
Series: patchwork multiverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843540
Kudos: 1





	epistaxis

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is fanfic for my own ocs. if you haven't heard me talk about them and are still reading, i love you dearly and here's everything you need to know for this: crimson has some pretty bad skull trauma around/underneath his nasal bridge (among other places) and it causes him very frequent and sometimes severe nosebleeds. he's a protector type character, a good person, but he doesn't come off that way. he's all war scars and dried blood and sharp teeth and leather on the outside, but he's a sweetheart and just wants his family to be safe. hypo, meanwhile, is in summary a swap sans who went through a lot of shit and now has jacked lv and trauma. blood is an extreme trigger for him. 
> 
> aren't they perfect for each other???
> 
> the nightmare of this multiverse, pollard, collects tragic cases like them and they all (about five of them, give or take a couple visitors) live in one really big house. it's a nice little found family and they focus on healing together. this drabble probably takes place a couple years or so after crimson joins. 
> 
> cws for sexually suggestive stuff, heavy description of blood, and the beginning of a breakdown

Crimson had never expected the touch to be so gentle. It was downright tender the way Hypothermia cupped his jawline, radiating comfort and need and a love so fierce it choked him. Hypo was lightning and whiteouts personified, lethal and sharp and unstoppable as nature itself, yet at this moment he was gentle like the soft pitter-patter of a springtime shower, slow and pacific as languid November snowflakes. Crimson could still feel that energy, cold enough to burn and packed with enough rage and love to end worlds, and he was using it to project want and need and _love._

He smelled sharply of peppermint. Peppermint and worn, tested fabric. Crim loved it, drinked it in and hoped some of the scent would stay on him when Hypo inevitably pulled away - and oh, the thought of smelling like him, being _marked_ by him, it shot another bolt of heat to his gut. Hypothermia leaned in and kissed him again, softer than Crim had ever dared to imagine, and he tangled his fingers in the other’s shirt because he was terrified to make a sound and scare him away.

Hypo hushed him soothingly as if he’d read his mind or felt that fear, telling him wordlessly that there was no need to worry. That he was here, that he had him, that he wanted - no, _needed_ him - that he wasn’t going to let go. Crimson nearly sobbed and the other kissed him again, steadying, grounding. 

Crim felt the heavy fabric of his sweater lift the slightest amount and freezing cold hands graze over his false ribs. He didn’t mind the cold, truthfully, it was something he learned to crave. His breath caught as Hypo’s fingers slowly, steadily wrapped around his lumbar spine. 

Hypo adjusted himself slightly, leaning his miniscule weight against the other’s hips, and Crimson’s breath shuttered. He kissed back, trying to match his gentleness (and failing miserably, he knew, although Hypothermia didn’t waver for a second), and finally got his trembling hands to move and caress the monster he loved so desperately. 

The sound of Hypo’s breath catching softly, the feel of his weight and unformed magic resting on Crim’s hips, the peppermint zephyr on his cheek and the cold hands inching toward his ribcage-- and god, the pure _love_ and _need_ radiating off of Hypo, the quiet reassurances, holding the storm of energy that is this monster, fuck. Hypo loved him. _Hypo loved him._

A putrid wetness leaked down Crimson’s maxilla and he froze, flicking his tongue over shark teeth. Sharp, metallic blood filled his mouth. He ripped his hand from Hypo’s icy bones and covered his nose and teeth, instinctively tilting his head up and away. He knew this would happen, how could he let himself forget, even for a moment?

When he glanced over, there was terror in his beloved’s face. He looked… betrayed, almost, grief and nausea and panic flashing through his expression. It tore Crimson’s soul apart to have that face turned on him, to make Hypo panic, to make him sick, it--

He jolted awake and sucked in a panicked breath, then immediately began to choke. There was a struggle and the loud crack of bare bones hitting the hardwood floor. He grasped for his throat, coughing and retching and fighting to breathe. There was so much of it, how had he not woken up sooner? Why was he on his back when he was always so careful to fall asleep on his side? 

He picked himself up in a frenzy, stumbled to the bathroom, and leaned over the sink. He kept his head down and mouth agape, watching his namesake stream down the drain. It was on his chest and cheeks and hands and he knew he was getting it over the countertop as well, but at least porcelain cleans easier than bone. 

His vision went blurry and he blinked away tears. He was holding back sobs and breathing through wet, shallow gasps. Hypo had been so close and it felt so real, so _right_ to have him like that. He wanted it so badly he thought he might be sick.

“Crim?” The voice was trepid with a lilt he would recognize anywhere, light without being tinny, almost always confident but never arrogant. 

He choked and tried not to cry harder. “Yeah.” His voice was wet and thick with blood.

Hypo was standing with his back against the wall next to the doorframe, empty sockets staring intensely at the other end of the hall. “Are you okay?” He sounded more reassuring than worried; trusting Crimson to be okay on some level simply because he needed him to be. He knew the shorter monster was hurt badly, but it was a laceration Hypo had forgotten how to heal (he’s doing his best to relearn it. He really, truly is). 

Crimson couldn’t respond. He tried a couple times but the words caught and drowned in his throat or his jaw kept them locked up and he didn’t know how to control that.

After listening to this quiet struggle for a few moments, Hypo asked in a quiet tone, “Can I come in?”

The door was open and both of them knew the answer. “No, you-- I’m-- no.” Crimson heard the other slide down the wall and sit and his heart swelled impossibly more.

A couple beats of silence passed and Hypo spoke again. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He clutched at his collar with one hand, smearing blood on the old leather. It hurt, and all he could respond with was a whimper. He felt pitiful.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“I know,” was all he could manage in response, undoubtedly too quiet for the other to hear.

Hypo had his nose buried in his corduroy bandana like he would smell the nosebleed otherwise, worrying the fabric with both hands. The texture was familiar and soothing, something to focus on instead of the looming self hatred over his ~~uselessness~~ inability to help and the hurt he felt for his friend. He felt terrible not being able to help him clean up, and more than anything he wanted to walk up and wrap his arms around the other’s middle, lean on his back, and tell him everything was fine. He wanted to kiss him after his face was clean, chase away the taste of blood with his own tongue, but just the thought of the copper taste and smell was enough to have him gagging, and suddenly he wasn’t thinking about Crimson’s gentle smile or sturdy body but of hot, wet blood slicking his hands, his knees sliding in it and his senses overflowing with it, streaking his bones and pouring out his mouth--

“--ermia? Hypo?”

He sucked in a deep breath of clean air, blessedly untainted by the scent of death. 

“ ‘re y’ with me?”

“I-I’m here,” he stuttered out, forcing his vision to fade back in. “I’m here, I’m…”

 _I’ve got you,_ Crimson wanted to say. It wouldn’t be true.

“...okay. A-Are--? Are you?”

By this point Crim had a lightly dismantled tampon tucked into his nasal aperture and was working on scrubbing the red off his hands under cold water. It always sticks between his joints and metacarpals; spit and q-tips helped but it was still a chore. “ ‘m okay,” he said roughly to convince himself of it. He needed to be. Even when his very soul was breaking apart, his friends (family, really) needed him, he wasn’t allowed to be hurt. “I’m okay.”

He wasn’t. He wanted to bury into the other skeleton and cry until he couldn’t anymore, to be held sweetly and convinced it would be okay, to have his tears kissed away or his head patted, to be held tight enough to hold him together. He wanted to tell Hypo everything. “Yeah, ‘m cleaning up, should be done… soon.”

When Crimson next looked down, a wrapped chocolate bar and bottle of black tea were sitting just past the threshold. He wanted to smile in spite of it all, but he found he couldn’t. He was exhausted. 

He slumped against the cabinets and slid to the floor, the open door on his right. Condensation wet his hands as he opened the bottle, depleted.

“Hypo?” he began once most of the blood was washed down. His voice shook more than he would ever admit.

“Yes?” He was steady where Crimson wasn’t, tall and sturdy when Crim felt like the smallest insect, packed full of carefully constrained energy when he felt he had nothing at all left to give.

Crim was glad he couldn’t see the other monster. He wouldn’t be able to take it. _I love you. More than I love seeing the stars and moon and the feel of wind and sunlight, more than earth and grass and flower buds, more than the harvest and more than knowing I won’t ever have to starve._ “Thank you.” It was hardly a mumble, rough with emotion and sleep and choked back tears.

Hypothermia said nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> wow it's been a while huh? i miss writing. i don't know what happened. i know this isn't my best but it's what i got. if anyone is reading this please leave kudos to be smooched on the head INSTANTLY by me, and if you comment i will love you forever.


End file.
